


Changes Nothing (Changes Everything)

by flawlix



Series: All in the Name [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Developing Relationship, Injury, M/M, can be read as a standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawlix/pseuds/flawlix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They promise each other that this won't change anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes Nothing (Changes Everything)

**Author's Note:**

> Also originally posted on [tumblr](http://flawlix.tumblr.com/post/99551648034/kind-of-a-follow-up-to-this-changes-nothing).

They promise each other that this won’t change anything, after that first kiss. (First everything else, too. It’s taken them long enough to get here; Felix isn’t waiting around for them to figure out the rest.)

Felix believes Locus because Locus keeps his word. It’s sort of his defining personality trait – rigid and reliable to a fault.

He thinks Locus believes him, because, despite himself, Felix is honest. He learned young and well that telling a suitable version of the truth outstrips a lie in believability any day.

And also, he thinks Locus believes him because he means it. The value for truth here is: this changes nothing. That’s not even a twisted version of truth, it just  _is_.

Why should it change anything? They are who they are, brutal and mercenary and maladaptive. Saying “I love you” hasn’t changed the fact that he also means it when he says “I hate you,” hasn’t changed the way Locus tells him to shut up like he’s barely restraining himself from hitting him in the face.

So if Felix grabs Locus before he puts his helmet on, before they go to war, and if he kisses him, licks “I love you” into his mouth because saying it once does not mean he can say it all the time, if this becomes their new normal, new ritual, well that changes nothing.

It changes everything.

They just don’t know it yet.

* * *

 The scene is eerie in its familiarity, a near mirror to the one that landed them in this mess in the first place.

Felix, so caught up in the heat of the fight that he forgets himself, forgets to keep track of all of the players, if only for a moment. A woman with a big gun aimed at his exposed back – Kimball this time, fighting with a kind of violent vigor he didn’t know she had (underestimated). Locus, shouting his name in warning tainted with fear and love.

But that’s where things get screwy, because as he turns to raise his shield, heart jackhammering under the adrenaline kick, Locus slams into his shoulder and sends him sprawling. Locus, who doesn’t have a fancy hardlight shield to deflect bullets.

The shield falters and dies as Felix hits the ground, rolls across his shoulder and lets his momentum carry him to his feet in time to see Locus cloak and disappear, already on the move. But invisible is not invincible and camouflage does not stop bullets.

He’s close enough to see the spray of blood as several hit home, close enough to see the air shimmer as Locus staggers. He hears him grunt, a soft sound over the COMfreq.

“You motherfucker!” he snarls, jumping forward with shield at the ready to cover both of them, him and his asshole partner. His hands grasp at invisible armor and find purchase, yanking Locus down and into him, behind the shield.

And then he screws up, too, because he’s so focused on keeping Locus shielded that he doesn’t realize he’s exposed until a hot lance of pain bursts through his shoulder. It’s so startling that he nearly drops the shield.

“Son of a bitch!”

That’s when Locus teleports them away.

They pop back into existence miles away in the middle of the fucking jungle, but less than a click from an emergency transport they have stashed in the uninhabited mess that is this part of Chorus.

“Locus? Felix? What happen—”

Felix kills the frequency, cutting the space pirate off without a word. Let them handle Kimball’s soldiers. Locus uncloaks in front of him, spine stiff like he’s about to snap to attention.

“What the fuck, Locus?” Felix shouts, gesturing angrily, only to be brought up short by a sharp pulse of pain from his shoulder. “Ow, fuck!”

“Are you hit?” Locus asks, voice tight.

“Am I—? Fuck you, you fucking douchebag!” Without thinking, Felix shoves him, forgetting for a moment that he’s angry because Locus got shot saving him instead of watching his own back. Locus sways and stumbles back with a low hiss of pain. “What the fuck was that? I had it, you idiot, I was fine! What was that superhero shit?”

“Are you done?”

“No! I’m not done!” Felix wheels away from him, hands clawing at the air like he wants to be clawing at Locus’s throat. “You’re supposed to trust me to watch my own—”

“As much as I’m enjoying your little tantrum,” Locus interrupts, “shut up and help me.”

Felix stops mid-step and looks at him. Locus is listing like a stalled out ship, hand pressed tight against his body suit just under his ribs. There’s a fresh bullet graze in the bottom of his chest piece, an unpainted line scored in the armor plating. Blood adds a slick black gleam to his armor, and now that Felix is noticing, he’s noticing there’s a lot of it.

“Fuck,” he mutters and fumbles for his own IFAK and its biofoam canisters with his good hand.

“Use it on yourself first,” Locus says.

Felix flips him off, yanking both of the canisters free. “Shut up. Just sit down and shut up. You don’t get to say anything right now.”

Surprisingly, Locus obeys him, easing himself down to lean back against one of the many trees.

It takes both of them to remove Locus’s chest plate so that he can actually use the biofoam. Three bullets: one through a weak spot in the bottom of his armor, still lodged somewhere under his ribs. Two lower, same side.  Felix isn’t an expert on human anatomy, but he knows the kind of damage a couple of bullets through vital organs will do, and he has a killer’s idea of where some of those organs are located, and this is not good.

If he’s a little rough with the biofoam, well, Locus deserves it. There’s a nasty little part of him that’s please at the way Locus’s face twists with pain when he injects the foam into his wounds, at the way his hand tightens on Felix’s leg. Maybe the pain will remind him that heroics will get you killed.

“Fuck you,” he says out loud, “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and there’s a long line of stupid to choose from. But, hey, let’s just look at recent events. We can start with letting the Reds and Blues live when we had them cornered and injured and end with you  _jumping into the line of fire_  like a fucking asshole! Because one of those is following protocol past the point of stupidity and the other is breaking protocol at literally the most inopportune time in existence.”

“Thank you for that glowing performance review,” Locus says, grimacing. “I’ll be sure to take it under advisement.”

Felix thinks about hitting him. Pictures it vividly, punching him in the gut, driving his knuckles into the bullet wounds in his side. Doesn’t do it, but his fist clenches. It’s a wet, sick anger crawling up the back of his throat, adding to the metallic tang of fear on the back of his tongue.

“You’re supposed to be a professional,” he says instead.

He’s supposed to be a professional, too, but his hands won’t stop shaking, and he still hasn’t taken care of his own injuries.

He’s starting to think they’re a little fucked.

“It was a lapse in judgment. It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers, resisting the urge to rest his head against Locus’s chest.

He doesn’t pull away when Locus reaches up and undoes his helmet for him. Without the filters, he can smell the chemical-copper tang of biofoam and blood. Locus slots his thumbs up against his throat. Pulse point.

“It won’t happen again,” Locus repeats. Surer this time. Strokes a thumb down Felix’s neck to the hollow at the base of his throat and up again to cup the back of his neck.

Felix laces his fingers across the back of Locus’s skull and presses their foreheads together. His hands leave bloody biofoam streaks in Locus’s stupid military regulation haircut.

“You promised,” he says. “You promised this wouldn’t change anything.”

“Sorry,” Locus says tiredly.

“That’s not enough,” he snaps, pulling back. “This only works when you trust me.”

“Felix.” Locus’s hands tighten on his neck. “I said it wouldn’t happen again. I keep my word.”

“Like you kept it today?” He stands, shrugging off Locus’s hands.

“Felix…”

“I’m gonna go get the Warthog. Try not to die while I’m gone.” He’s going for cold and angry.

He’s pretty sure he fails.  

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit is welcome.


End file.
